Tag Archives: Tolstoy

Curating or Interpreting?

Alexievich’s Voices from Chernobyl is simultaneously dealing with depicting the story of the victims of Chernobyl while questioning conventional methods of documentation and storytelling. Alexievich herself ends the novel in her epilogue lamenting, “(Chernobyl) is more powerful than anything literature has to say” (240).  The ending of Alexievich compilation seems to suggest that anyone learning about this catastrophe that did not experience it is unable to understand its severity. One of her narratives near the end emphasizes, “Because no one knows what Chernobyl is. People have guesses and feelings” (236). I believe that Alexievich’s style of storytelling, in the compilation of individual narratives, is not an attempt to show or inform the reader about the event generally. Yes, the narratives circle around the event of Chernobyl, however, Alexievich understands that the tragedy cannot be encapsulating in writing, but rather in experience. Consequently, instead of attempting to write literature about Chernobyl which attempts to display its tragedy, Alexievich resists and instead documents individuals. Acting more as a curator than as the traditional author, Alexievich is able to communicate the unheard stories of the “solitary voices” without generalizing the event in whole.

 

Alexievich asks for a comparison of her historical approach to Toylstoy’s in his novel War and Peace. In her second narrative she documents, “Do you remember how it was in Tolstoy?” (25).  Tolstoy tells the Franco-Russian war through multiple perspectives, similar to Alexievich. Tolstoy’s perspectives are narrative and all from a generally similar background: Russian and of nobility. Although Tolstoy emphasizes the importance of history encompassing multiple narrative of an event, he still writes a literary narrative and not a documentation.

 

Alexievich pushes Tolstoy’s established tradition. She rejects any complete narrative and instead replaces any of her authorial voice with the voice of the victims. Instead of translating and interpreting history as Tolstoy does, Alexievich curates.

Is all of nature created (and enjoyed) equally?

Valentin Rasputin does a beautiful job writing Baikal. This piece is written in a very lyrical and intriguing manner, both informing and inspiring the reader. Rasputin depicts Lake Baikal as different from other natural landmarks, and at one point, claims it one of nature’s “favorites”.  For me, this begged the question of whether or not nature creates all natural environments equally, to be enjoyed equally by all, none objectively better than another. Early on in this piece, Rasputin writes, “How and with what can its beauty actually be compared? … each of us regards his own region as beloved and dear…From the time we are born we drink in the air, the salt, and the scenes of our homeland; these influence our character and shape our vital makeup to no small degree” (189). According to this view, maybe all of nature is created equally, but experienced differently, and even biasedly, by love who live in it. For instance, I might find that the beauty of my home environment is objectively better than the environment a couple of towns over. This seems right to me in many ways. However, there are some flaws in this view. I love my hometown and will always think that the ocean surrounding my tiny island is the most beautiful of them all, but I must admit that I believe this because of the personal attachment and emotional bond I have with it. I’ve traveled a great deal and have seen oceans must more beautiful than the Atlantic surrounding my island – the colors of the Indian and Atlantic oceans colliding at the very point of Cape Town, the sky above it, and backdrop behind it, were so obviously more beautiful than the ocean I’m used to here. According to this view posed by Rasputin, I should think there is nothing more beautiful than my island ocean, so why is it that, in some ways, I prefer the ocean in Cape Town? This leads me to Tolstoy’s quote:

“How, in the midst of nature’s charms, can feelings of malice and vengeance or the passion to destroy others like himself possibly remain entrenched in man? It seems that all evil in a person’s heart should vanish when it comes into contact with nature, this spontaneous expression of beauty and goodness” (192).

In my mind, I related this quote to the story of the colleague who becomes silent after witnessing the natural beauties of Lake Baikal. He clearly had a lasting life-altering experience that influenced the way he viewed and approached life thereafter, but can all people experience this, as Tolstoy hopes, or does it take a certain type? Maybe an open-minded person more in touch with nature is most capable of this transformative experience because it is obvious that not everyone experiences nature in the same way this colleague does. Looping back to my point of the island ocean versus the Cape Town ocean, maybe it is that I am more unfamiliar with the latter and thus have a greater appreciation from it; and from this, we might say that nature is created equal, and can be enjoyed equally by all, but that it does take a certain type of person, and maybe even some extent of removal from a place, for us to appreciate the full and true beauty of nature.

Tolstoy: Recurrent Themes Across Master and Man and The Cossacks

A common theme I see between Master and Man and The Cossacks is that of what it means to be “truly happy”. At the end of both of these short stories, Olenin and Vasili appear to believe that a life rooted in altruism is most promising for leading a happy and fulfilling life. First, we have Vasili, a rich landowner that is predominantly concerned about buying land, and his peasant, Nikita, whom he treats poorly and often exploits. After a long and strenuous voyage together, Vasili leaves Nikita to die in the cold but ultimately returns out of a sense of duty. Vasili lies on Nikita to keep him warm and dies to save Nikita. During this Vasili exclaims, “‘I have been frightened. That is clear, and have lost my nerve’”, followed by Tolstoy’s narration: “But this weakness came not as an unpleasant sensation; rather as a notable, and hitherto unknown, delight” (525). To me, this quote explains Vasili’s newfound desire to act in service of others – this once “unknown delight” is now the very reason he sacrifices his life for another.

After his life seemingly flashes before his eyes, Vasili has passed away at last, yet is not disturbed by this; rather, he finds peace in knowing he is no longer alive. I discussed the importance of Vasili’s death in itself above but now want to move on to his “after death” thoughts and reflections, at least how Tolstoy tells it. He writes, “He remembers his money, the shop, the house, the buying and selling, the Mironovs’ millions; and he really cannot understand why that man, called Vasily Brekhunov, had troubled with all those things which he has troubled himself” (527), reminding me of how Olenin feels about his own past. He expresses boredom with his life of riches and purges himself from high society. Olenin makes an effort to leave behind the selfish life he once led to become less egocentric and find purpose in life through giving to others. Both Olenin and Vasili come to realize that the materialistic aspects of their lives are not what gives them purpose and turn to altruism to somehow reverse this. Lastly, Tolstoy writes, “…all his beings speaks joyfully and tenderly. And he feels himself free” (527). This reminded me of how Olenin finds a sense of freedom among the natural environment in the Cossacks. On a similar note, there were elements of nature in both stories that seemed similar to me. Vasili exposes himself to the natural and harsh realities of nature – the cold, wind, ice and snow – to save the life of his peasant. Olenin, too, exposes himself to his natural environment and expects that this will bring peace and happiness to his life. Vasili died in the natural elements while Olenin lived, but both were able to find some sort of inner peace through this experience.

The True Master: Nature or Man?

Tolstoy’s short story, “Master and Man,” brings to light an important theme about the power that nature has over people. While the story at first focuses on the relationship between Vasily Andreyevich and the peasant Nikita, it ultimately addresses how nature serves as a master over all people. At the beginning of the story, Vasily Andreyevich clearly is Nikita’s master, as he pays Nikita for his work and is called master (492). The relationship between them is clearly understood, particularly since Vasily Andreyevich claims that they “are dealing straightforwardly. You work for me, and I stand by you” (491). This is a typical master and servant relationship, as the servant is expected to perform what the master desires; in addition, another instance of this relationship can be seen in reference to the snowstorm.

Vasily Andreyevich entire motivation for traveling during the storm is to get a favorable price on a plot of forest. The irony of this situation is that in trying to control natural resources, nature fights back and become the main characters’ master. While the storm is raging, Vasily Andreyevich and Nikita reject the offer to stay a night to wait out the storm; instead they press forward for the sake of “business” and the fear that “if you let an hour go, you may not be able to make it up in a year” (506). After being forced to stop their journey because of the storm, they begin to succumb to the masterful power of nature. Nikita articulates his acceptance of nature as the true master when he responds to Vasily Andreyevich question about them freezing by saying “we cannot help it” (513). Both characters are at the whim of nature, as their efforts to progress are constantly stymied to the point that they give up and hope to make it through the night. Neither of the characters have much power to control their fates, as it all depends on what nature desires.

While nature controls the lives of both characters, Vasily Andreyevich’s final action of saving Nikita to some extent calls into question to what extent nature is the true master of man. Interestingly, Nikita is described as saved by being “kept warm beneath his now dead master” (527). The fact that Vasily Andreyevich is described as a master at the end of the story reveals how nature may not be the final authority over all people, as man still has the capacity to act against the power of nature. I am interested to hear everyone’s thoughts about which “master and man” relationship is more significant and whether there are more such relationships in this work.

Olenin vs. John

Comparing The Cossacks and A Dream in Polar Fog – this last section of Rytkheu’s A Dream in Polar Fog reminded me of Tolstoy’s The Cossacks in a couple of ways, but I will discuss two here. First is the way in which two different social classes think about themselves and “the other”. In The Cossacks, Olenin and his aristocratic fellows of Moscow are divided both physically and socioeconomically from the people of the Caucasus. Olenin, of course, has his own preconceived notions of the Cossack people, but nonetheless claims to go on this journey with an open mind and lofty goals for self-improvement. At the start of Chapter 21, John says, “The thing that divides us from one another is stereotypes about others and wrong ideas about ourselves… I think that the biggest mistake might be this: Each nation thinks that it’s the only one that lives in the right way… In itself, the idea is harmless. It even helps keep order in a society. But when a nation tries to change another’s way of life forcibly, that’s when things go wrong” (Rytkheu 222). I believe this to be true in the majority of cultures and societies, but do not feel this overlaps with how Olenin feels about the Cossack society. As the story goes on, we see Olenin purge himself of the wealthy values he’s adopted through high society Moscow in an attempt to integrate himself into this new village lifestyle he desires. He finds the simplistic lifestyles and values of the Cossack people beautiful and in this sense, does not appear to believe his aristocratic life is any better than that of the Cossack people. In fact, Olenin is sickened by the life he once led.

Second, the personification of nature appears in A Dream in Polar Fog as it does in The Cossacks. Also, in this same chapter, Orvo says, “…man starts to believe that he is the strongest and the smartest, and that he is the only master of the earth. And this is how it goes, for a time. But then, nature, Narginen, the Outer Forces, take away all the extraneous things… This is the kind of storm the Outer Forces use to clear away all that can lift man about them… It’s as though Narginen is reminding us: I’m master here, and it’s only on my sufferance that man lives here at all…” (Rytkheu 230). At the bottom of page 229, it is noted that *Narginen is defined as “the external forces that guide all life”. In The Cossacks, Olenin states, “Perhaps in her I love nature, the personification of all that is beautiful in nature; But I do not have a will of my own, and what loves her is some elemental force passing through me all of God’s world, all of nature presses this love into my soul and says: “Love” (Tolstoy 148). Olenin’s quote here shows that nature is stronger than him and therefore has control over him and his love for Maryanka. In this instance, the Narginen Orvo references, to me, seems relatable to the elemental forces Olenin mentions.

 

Truth and Happiness

In The Cossacks, Tolstoy weaves the tropes of Russian exotic with the absurd in the commonplace events. While some have life-changing moment of clarity after a life-threatening event, Olenin’s moment of clarity comes after a solitary hunting trip in which his biggest danger is the mosquitos. Reveling, “But does it matter that grass will grow?…I still have to live, have to be happy. Because there is only one thing I want—happiness,” Olenin considers his purpose in the grand scheme of life and measures being a mindless element in the circle of life, content in oblivion, against a creature capable of happiness (Tolstoy, 83). And so, thanks to Uncle Eroshka’s advice and the unchangeable nature of mosquitos that makes them bite humans, Olenin discovers the route to being happy is to be his best self.

Seemingly, Olenin is rewarded for this change—he allows himself to fall in love, considers abandoning the life of lies that constitute Russian society, and take up the simpler “truer” life of the Cossack peasants, not to mention prove his masculinity by facing down the Chechens. But in actuality, Olenin deludes himself with this “truth.” Claiming his new environment for himself, “my hut, my forest, and the beautiful woman I love,” he maintains the conqueror’s mindset that if it benefits him, it is his (Tolstoy, 130). Instead of disdaining the local people for their simplicity, he disdains those at home, and yet either way he justifies his inclusion in and dominion over his new environment, his new people. But, he forgets Uncle Eroshka’s perhaps most important lesson: “No one loves us, you and me—we’re outcasts!” (Tolstoy, 118). Eroshka hits upon the most salient point in this exclamation: for different reasons, there truly is no way for Olenin and Eroshka to fit into the Cossack society, as much as they might try to relate to individual people within it. Perhaps the most frustrating obliviousness that Olenin expresses* is the idea that Maryanka loves him. Maryanka never admits any feelings whatsoever towards Olenin, save that she does not dislike him and that his hands are soft. Instead she demurs, in lieu of answers, asking questions such as, “What is there for me to tell [my father]?” or “Why should I not love you, it’s not as if you were one-eyed or a hunchback” or “Why not? If my papa gives me to you” (Tolstoy, 149-150). These questions lend a doubt to any positive feelings Olenin takes away from this encounter. Is she actually expressing the potential for love or is she indulging a slightly crazy foreigner who is providing a generous income to her family? Does she have any agency in deciding who she spends the rest of her life with or will her father (and mother) decide all for her? Olenin decides to believe whatever will bring himself the most happiness and so finds himself deluded with ideas of “truth” and grandeur that few people will actually contradict because of his status as a wealthy Russian elite.

*Frustrating for me at least, as a female reader.

The Cossack Fetish

Much like our modern craze of brands such as North Face and Patagonia, the outdoors and rustic living and adventure is something that is attractive and marketable. Especially to urbanites, rural symbols seem to represent a fantastical status symbol of being organically rooted.

 

The Cossack people and the Caucasus seem to have a similar symbolic value to the characters of Tolstoy’s The Cossacks. Just as people in America once fetishized and wore appropriated symbols of Native American culture to represent a connection to a natural past, and just as people wear outdoor brands today, Olenin on his exodus to the Caucasus similarly fetishizes the Cossack people in a series of daydreams, “All his dreams about the future were connected with images of Amalat-Beks, Circassain maids, Mountains, precipices, fearsome torrents and dangers” (12). Regardless of the dangers of living outside of city walls and moving to a less developed place, Olenin fetishizes the place for the status and brand-like-attributes of the Caucuses, “All of this appeared dimly and vaguely; but, glory, with its allure, and death, with its menace, constituted the interest of that future” (12). Instead of realizing the potential hardships of living rustically and within a different culture, Olenin plays off the branded stereotypes and the mythic fantasies of the land. Olenin does not see the realities of the Cossacks, but the romanticized Taras Bulba like allure to the location.

 

Olenin then begins to have two different fantasies, one of adventure and one way more problematically of a Circassain maid. Olenin sexually fetishizes this woman imagining her as his “slave girl… with submissive eyes… covered in dust, blood and glory” (13). Olenin’s dream of his Circassain maid begins to illuminate the elitism and supremacy he feels towards the Cossack people. Not only does he fetishize her ruralness and imagine her as a savage (with reference to the blood) but further imagines her as someone who he can educate and in a way save, “In the longer winter evenings he began to educate her” (13). Olenin’s fetishized Cossack is not one of their original cultures, but one that he adapts and assimilates.

 

Olenin’s fantasy begins to tell us how Russian urbanites of the time viewed the Caucasus and their culture. Instead of viewing the realities of a less developed (I say this in the sense of infrastructural developed, not culturally) society, they exotified the culture for its seemingly organic rustic way-of-life. If I had more time, I would talk further about the stakes of Olenin fetishizing the Cossack people and specifically more analysis on the daydream of the Circassain maid.

One Man’s Trash is Another Man’s Treasure

A major theme that emerges from the readings this week is the idea of the Russian peripheries as distant lands filled with misunderstood and unappreciated natural purity. Tolstoy’s The Cossacks most strikingly reveals this through Olenin’s journey to the Caucasus mountains and his gradual attitude shift towards life in the empire’s periphery. Olenin’s friends initially question his decision to go to the Caucasus, saying that they themselves “wouldn’t do it for anything,” which reveals the important perspective the city dwellers have on these distant lands (7). While Moscow society is preoccupied with establishing one’s social status and speaking French, the periphery is viewed as undesirable (8). Olenin to some extent still embodies these characteristics at the start of his journey, as upon viewing the mountains for the first time he comments that “he could not find anything attractive in the spectacle of the mountains of which he had read and heard so much” (15). This is in line with Moscow society’s blasé attitude towards the periphery; however, Olenin’s attitude quickly changes the next day when he clearly sees the “enormous, pure white masses with their delicate contours, [as if it were an] apparition” (15-16). This marks a turning point for Olenin, where he starts to reject his city ways and embrace what the periphery has to offer.

Olenin’s embrace of natural purity makes him “quite a different man,” as he turns over a new leaf and adopts the Circassian way of life (48). Through his immersion in the majestic nature of the Caucasus mountains, he is reborn with more vigor than he ever had while living in Moscow (52). Olenin’s transformation critiques Moscow society while at the same time extols the splendor of the empire’s periphery that goes unappreciated by many. The Caucasus mountains serve as a physical, cultural, and societal escape from the Russian interior that Tolstoy brings to light through Olenin’s embrace of the land and its people.

Pushkin’s poem, Farewell to Russia, also touches on the interior peoples’ perspectives of distant Russian lands. What is most surprising by this poem is narrator’s mention of his “exile… beneath the Caucasian skies,” as it highlights how the Russian authority punishing him obviously viewed the Caucasus region as a vile punishment (5-6). The narrator, on the other hand, is greatly pleased to escape the undesirable conditions of the interior, which further emphasizes the varying interior perspectives of the periphery. To conclude, one question I have is whether those in the interior considered the empire’s periphery part of Russia, or more as foreign non-Russian regions?